


Won't You Hold Me?

by Muucifer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:11:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muucifer/pseuds/Muucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how often John bats his pretty blue eyes up at him, he never looks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pale fingers slide down over his hips, then rub the inside of a tender thigh. John mewls, and spreads his legs a little wider, offering himself to his own hand. He teases himself, tugging the leghole of his boxers, caressing the joint of stomach and thigh, pressing down anywhere but where he really wants it. Bringing his other hand to his mouth, he sucks two fingers, coating them in saliva. His fingers hold his mouth open as he pants around them, drool forming in the corner and dribbling down chin.

The hand toying with himself lightly breezes over the obvious tent in the front of his shorts. He lets out a startled gasp and bucks into it. Cupping his hand over the thin fabric, he palms the head of his erection, a dark blotch already forming to stain the blue material. It burns in pleasure and he pushes his knees down into the floor, thrusting his cock into his hand. A loose white shirt pools on his waist, and the hand in his mouth slides out- a thick trail of clear saliva connecting it to his lips for the briefest of seconds- slipping down the fiddle with the hem. Soft fabric clings to his sweat slicked skin and bunches while he moves his wet fingers up his chest. He circles one nipple, rubbing and tweaking it, bouncing his hips harder.

“Oh god,” he whimpers, glancing down and seeing the orange symbol on his chest. John watches the lumps of his fingers work below it, and pauses for a moment to nip the fabric of the shirt between his teeth and tug it up, the scent of oil and cologne and him overwhelming. One finger around his cock slips through the opening on his shorts, and he keens at the skin contact on his heated erection. Twisting two digits around his bud, it’s almost too much and he tosses his head back, but he loses the scent and buries his face back forward in the soft cloth, not wanting to miss a second of it.

His hand trembles when he pushes his boxers down, his weeping dick springing free from them in sweet release from constriction, and he wastes no time wrapping his hand around it. Slowly, he rubs around the head, smearing pre over his palm and fingertips. Dancing a single finger down his length, he massages his balls when he reaches the bottom, then slides his finger further back, over his perineum. John pays special attention to his, pressing and caressing it, feeling the heat pool deep in his stomach in anticipation of what’s to come.

A nail grazes his tight entrance, slipping over it easily. Mind numb, he circles it with one digit, slippery with his own fluid. The teasing here is worse, and he moans lowly into the blonde’s shirt. Imagining it was him, his long fingers- rough with years of metal work and still so tender and careful- pressing against him, making him needy. The first meets little resistance as it’s pushed in, and slips in to the knuckle, as far as he can go. He wiggles it, feeling it inside of himself and whimpers. Hooking it over his entrance as he pulls it back out and tugs the ring of muscle, his thighs shaking with the force of not kicking out. John’s ass is cool on the wood flooring beneath him, but he can feel the liquid beginning to puddle under him, warming it considerably.

One finger becomes two, and he’s rocking himself down on them. Breathy gasps escape his throat, only realising once they’re out that he’s actually saying His name; a soft prayer on his lips. Scissoring his digits, he stretches his own hole in preparation for something he’ll never have. John’s rocks down against the intrusion, mewling softly. He twists and wiggles, curling them as they move in and out.

Breaching himself with a third finger, he whines, smothering his face into white cotton to hid his noises. It’s hurts, but the pleasure mixes in and it’s beautifully perfect. John crooks his fingers against that spot inside of him and his vision streaks with white stars. He keens, pushing his hips down and ramming down onto his digits again.

John imagines longer fingers roaming his body, loving him all over; ghosting his nipples, skating his chest. And imagines them wrapped around the flushed head of his erection, twisting and tightening. He can almost feel the heat from the older males body, rolling off of him and enveloping his small body in the chill of the room. He wants him, wants him so much it hurts, but He won’t even look at him. No matter how often John bats his pretty blue eyes up at him from under long inky lashes, he never looks. Here like this, with His shirt wrapped around him and three fingers buried inside, he can pretend that he’s loved.

As his mind crashes back into feeling, his slow and steady thrusting because hurried and frenzied. He arches his back and rocks down, meeting his own thrusting fingers on their way up. John stops being able to see anything other than white-hot pleasure, and his brain trips over itself in thoughts of so close don’t stop. And he’s almost there, the thrusting has slowed and he’s rutting down on his hand and his other hand drops to tug his cock. Everything is good and he’s close and oh god he dips his thumb into the tip and flicks his fingers inside against that spot.

Everything goes blank when he finishes. His breath hitches, and he lets out a choked _Dirk_ and sobs softly from the intensity of everything. John continues to pump his hand, milking himself as he coats his own hand and his stomach. He trembles in the aftermath, slumping backwards against the edge of the bed. Panting harshly, he swipes his fingers through the mess cooling on his stomach, scooping it off. He reaches up to grab a tissue from the stand, wiping off the sticky fluid with a scowl.

Suddenly, he felt so much worse. Looking down at the shirt still pushed up around his chest, John sniffles softly. Finally he shoves it down and draws his knees up, curling in on himself inside Dirk’s shirt. Tucking his face into his knees, he lets the tears run free. They pour down his cheeks and stain the fabric, and all John can taste is salt when he licks his cracked lips. He hides his face and his shame, wrapping his arms around his legs and rocking back and forth. It hurt knowing he meant nothing to him. It hurt and there was nothing he could do about it.


	2. Chapter 2

A pair of heavy knocks on the door have him peering up over his knobs of knees, tucking his feet in closer and covering the symbol on the shirt. The door opens before he has a chance to call out to them. He certainly didn’t expect the person who stepped through.

“Yo, Jo- uhm. Did I interrupt something?” Orange eyes watch him behind dark shades, a single nearly white eyebrow shooting up over the top edge. John feels his face heat and he hides in the shirt, nodding a bit. Dirk swallows around a knot in his throat and coughs, clearing it. Awkwardness is tangible and thick in the room, pierced by the click of a door shutting. John looks up, expecting Strider to have gone, but he’s still standing there pressed against the wood. His cheeks have a slight tint of orange, and his voice quavers a little when he speaks again. “That’s- ah- my shirt? I kind of need it back.”

John groans and hides in the fabric in question, his face a deep red. He couldn’t believe this. The soft noise of shoes tapping along flooring stirs him and he glances up, dreading the sword in the face he’s going to get. Dirk stops in front of him, peering down at him, then one foot inches out to nudge John’s thigh. John whimpers, the noise seems to prompt more action because then that foot is nudging his balls, sliding down over them and tapping against his entrance.

What.

John whimpers again, his legs spreading a bit of their own accord. The shirt slides off of his knees, exposing him to scalding orange eyes veiled in black. Dirk’s face doesn’t even twitch as he toes up John’s dick, now springing back to life. The object of his dirtiest daydreams and dearest affections that he thought would never notice him is fondling him. Albeit, with his shoe and John isn’t sure how to feel about that.

It feels like a prank, like Dirk’s going to start laughing any second and stop touching him. Like he’s going to call John gross and make fun of him. But it never comes, instead Dirk’s sinking to his knees in front of him. His hands reach to clutch John’s knees, spreading them apart. From this close, John can see his eyes through the dark glass. They’re watching him curiously, roaming over his body and eying the boy’s crotch with minute interest. John lifts his hands and rests them on Dirk’s over his knees. He clutches a bit, tightening around them.

Dirk leans forward and one hand slips out from underneath John’s and crawls down his thigh to meet his hip. But it doesn’t stop there, sliding up his own shirt on the boy’s body to wrap around the curve of John’s ribs. He brushes one thumb against a pert nipple, and if he didn’t have a look of concentration now, the movement could have been an accident.

“Sorry I stole your shirt, Dirk.” John stutters, forcing himself to say it. The look Dirk gives him is worth it; a small quirk of a smile and those orange eyes sparkling. He also trails his free hand down his body, dipping down under his body to slick his finger again in the excess still dribbling from his entrance. When John brings his fingers back up he makes a show of rubbing them together and getting the lube all over his hand. “I wanted to have fun with it,” he gives Dirk a coy smile and flushes. Being sexy is hard.

It doesn’t go unappreciated though. Dirk leans forward to suck his neck, the hand toying with John’s chest disappearing behind him and his fingers are cold as they dance over his entrance. He hums thoughtfully, then dips two digits in easily. His fingers are longer than John’s and reach farther in with minimal effort. John keens, arching his back as he slumps down along the bed. Dirk uses his other hand to lift John’s hips and rest them on his thighs, rubbing careful circles into the creamy spot. He mars John’s skin possessively, coating anything he can reach in love bites.

As fingers trace designs into his body, John writhes on Dirk’s lap twisting his legs around his thin waist and trapping their bodies together. There’s a hardness pressing against his ass, firm and hot. The elder teen groans quietly into his neck, rutting up and the pressure making both of them gasp.

“Dirk, please, I want you,” John pants into his ear, clawing blonde locks close to him. Dirk nods, and tries to get his hand between their bodies, but John’s weight is making it difficult to undo his pants. Noticing the problem, John plants his feet on the floor and forces himself up, his whole body trembling. The other male scrambles to get the button open and zipper down, groaning when he’s freed from the confines of his boxers. He merely pulls himself out, not taking them or his pants off. John collapses onto him, shaking and whimpering.

“I saw you watching me, you know. It was hard to ignore your eyes following me everywhere.” Dirk clutches his waist and pulls the little teen against his chest, trapping him there with his arms. He nibbles on the pale ear next to his face, sucking and lapping at it, tugging it into his mouth and breathing hot onto it. “Didn’t think you’d have the gall to do something like this.” His fingers twist into his shirt, tightening it around John’s body, “Looks nice on you. Maybe I’ll let you keep it.” It tightens a bit more when he tugs it up over the boy’s chest as high as he can, it gets caught under his slim arms. With another harsh yank the shirt forces John’s arms up over his head, and the fabric catches and holds them there.

John whines, trying to free his arms and only managing to tangle the shirt further, pinning his arms. In an attempt to lessen the strain on his shoulders, he loops his arms down back over Dirk’s shoulders and pulls him close. His glasses jab him angrily, and it stings a bit. Dirk realises his discomfort and the dark shades disappear into his sylladex, exposing his orange eyes to John. The elder teen smirks into his neck, using his own arms to force John’s legs open more.

The hard press of the male against his entrance has John a mewling mess, a litany of _please, Dirk, please oh god._ The blonde gives him a thoughtful face, carefully nudging and sliding along the crevice of his ass. A particularly hard jab to his perineum makes John slump down and keen, fingers wringing as he desperately tries to grab at Dirk’s hair. Large hands grip his ass, kneading the meat around his erection, groans echoing through John’s mind.

John tangles his fingers into his hair- having awkwardly rubbed his wrists together to reach it- and tries to guide Dirk to his mouth. But he’s adamant about giving John what he wants, instead pecking his face everywhere but his lips. A needy noise escapes, and Dirk’s lips twitch when John’s pop out into a pout. Orange eyes follow the trembling of his lips, how red and full they were, glossy and chewed, before finally shoving his onto them and biting harshly. John yelps, the sound swallowed by Dirk who takes the chance to slide his tongue in and thoroughly devouring him.

Dirk slicks against him, pressing into his hole lightly. At John’s whimpering gasp, he rams up into him, digging his fingers into John’s hips and forcing him down at the same time. It burns, John screams but he chokes off into a sob and flops onto Dirk’s body. Limp, he can’t even nod or tell him to slow down or wait a minute. The larger teen continues to thrust up into him, holding his body close like a ragdoll. John sniffles and hides his face, burying it into Dirk’s neck, he lets himself be pounded ruthlessly while Dirk controls their movements.

His voice won’t seem to work, but he needs to say something, anything. Tears pour down his cheeks, but it’s not from the way his entrance is being abused. Finally his voice crack, “Oh god, Dirk. I-,” he hiccups and clings a little tighter, “I-i love you.” He locks his ankles together behind the other’s solid back, and pulls them as close together as he can. Dirk’s movements stutter, and he slows to a stop. He leans back, prying John away from him so he can look him in the eye.

For a long moment, neither of them say anything. Orange search blue, there’s a faint hint of worry, concern, or maybe just confusion. Tears streak down John’s reddened cheeks, but before they can drip off Dirk’s long finger dart up to soothe them away. Stroking his face, Dirk smiles softly at him, leaning forward to knock their foreheads together and kiss him tenderly. He mouths something against John’s lips, and he thinks it may be the sentiment, but he can’t be sure. It morphs into another kiss, one that starts slow and sweet and careens into heavy and fast.

This time when Dirk starts moving inside of him it’s gentle. He cradles the boy against his chest, rocking him up and down with their movements. John mewls, trying to match Dirk’s thrusting with his own downward rolls of his hips. It only last for a second before Dirk’s moving too fast for him to keep up, so he lets himself be bounced to the rhythm the blonde has set. A subtle shift in angle has Dirk brushing against the nerves inside him. His vision goes blank and he squirms, trying to feel that again.

Dirk notices and tries to hit it, adjusting to rock against it with each thrust. John clenches in waves around him, he groans trying to keep his steady pace. John feels him begin to falter and pushes his feet down against the floor, using the leverage to roll his hips down. They stop meeting in tandem, thrusting becoming erratic. John moans loudly, the noise vibration around them, encouraging Dirk to keep moving.

His release hits him like a brick and he arches, pulling away from Dirk so hard the blonde has to bend over with John’s arms. A scream rips itself out of his throat, sounding vaguely like Dirk’s name. His whole body spasms and quakes, his legs shaking and his hands clawing at the yellow locks they’re twined around. Shooting hot and wet over his stomach, John moans and grinds down on the erection still moving up into him. Dirk curls him back into his body, holding him close while John’s inner walls clench and tighten around him.

With a cut off _Shit,_ John feels everything inside flood and he feels so full and complete. It comes crashing down over the two of them, and they sit together, bodies twitching and overflowing with sensation. John’s back hits the bed behind him, and leaning forward Dirk drops his head onto his chest, holding him close. He’s still slowly rocking his hips up, and John’s voice is a wreck when he coughs out for him to stop.

With a wince, John wriggles until Dirk slips out of him with a sick pop, and he feels the sticky mess dribble out after him. Then he taps his trapped wrists against the back of messy blonde hair, drawing his attention. Dirk ducks out of the grip, and struggles to undo the mess. Once free, John lets his heavy limps flop onto their combined lap, and Dirk nuzzles back against him, kissing lovingly along his collarbone.

“U-uhm, what did you say earlier? I didn’t...” A low chuckle rumbles through his chest and Dirk looks up at him, a smile in his eyes.

“I love you, too, dork.”

Incredulous, John squeaks, “You do?”

“Mhm, you’re just... hard to talk to. We don’t have much to talk about. But you’re try to be happy and nice to everyone, and that’s sweet.” John giggles, tucking back against him. He nods affirmative and pecks Dirk’s temple.

“ I’m not always nice.” Dirk gives him a skeptical look and he nods his head viciously, “Really I’m kind of a dick!” The taller male makes a noise along the lines of _sure thing, babe,_ and John practically glows with happiness at the pet name.

“You’re not too sore are you? I got kind of rough.” John shakes his head in jerky motions and Dirk _hm_ ’s in understanding.

They rest like that, peacefully silent in the afterglow. Dirk’s long fingers stroke small circles into the small of John’s back, and he hums appreciatively. With one last lingering kiss, Dirk’s on his feet and scooping John in his arms, whisking him off to the bathroom for a much needed shower. A white shirt with an orange hat on left abandoned on the floor of the bedroom that smells like happy boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't make my baby hurt, I am not a mean person at heart. Have a fluffy dorky ending to make chapter one hurt less.


End file.
